PA PAPAPA

Neither a hex nor particularly vexing, this viewing is something of a marvelous encounter, albeit sinewy and allergenic, and yet not without a peristaltic praise and dander-filled wink. It’s a portal-to, a schema and spurn, a radium pun, radiant with its clefts and limps, and even a tad nailed-down, fuck, almost Christlike. This is a document, a temporal leap, evolving from watery pilsner to the accolades of feather boas and used sanitary wipes; it captures the stink of low-fidelity with sheer precision editing, chilling the August clean with a fell swoop and videonystagmographer’s chance at fame; and last, a penultimate (we hope) intertwining of the diaphanous and the husophonic. Dig in, and bring your Mom!